


its 2020 its time to be self-indulgent and cringe

by dr_robosaur



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, just oc & npc fluff bc i'm soft, two bards and not a dick or tiddy in sight??? blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_robosaur/pseuds/dr_robosaur
Summary: if you look at the original chart of maslow's hierarchy of needs and zoom in at the top of the pyramid you'll see he included found family and hurt/comfort as humanity's ultimate key to fully realizing the self but he knew weren't ready for that knowledge in 1943 so he took it out...until now. The year is 2020, everything is awful and we're all on social media living vicariously through our dnd characters, collectively realizing he was right. In this letter to the American Psychological Association, I will
Kudos: 1





	its 2020 its time to be self-indulgent and cringe

**Author's Note:**

> ok so if you've listened to the adventure zone my boy Somlen is basically the homebrew haunted doll from that and my dm is brilliant and turned it into a npc that I love and cherish with my whole heart. he was a classic horny himbo bard who got cursed into doll form and I found out recently it was hired hag that cursed him and hoo boy when I get my hands on her my god

The kill was not nearly as climactic as she’d thought it be. A simple slip of her little-used dagger and the hag’s breath hissed out as she crumpled to the floor. She didn’t turn to ash, or burst into flame, or scream, or plead; perhaps she’d always known her fate was sealed the moment this halfling was handed her prey. Maybe, when she’d seen the bard’s friends, she’d hoped the doll would stay silent and still. Better to let her fun die with him rather than invoke their wrath. But he’d never been still or silent in his life, and no wood or leather or blood could hold him back for long.

Tillian took a few steps back, dropping her dagger. All eyes were on her, then to Somlen by her side. She teared her eyes of the body and looked at him. The two stared at each other, Tillian holding their breath. Somlen’s hands were shaking, and despite his small size it was impossible to miss the dread on his face.

“I-, I don’t think it-” he started, before his eyes rolled back and his body fell limp like a puppet without strings. Tillian’s stomach dropped, and she moved to scoop him up before he hit the ground. He didn’t. Instead, he seemed to float up as if underwater, untethered. Tillian and the others watched as he raised high above them toward the thatched ceiling, sending one of the hanging baubles swinging as he knocked against it. Tillian’s panic began to creep back in and she prepared to cast Mage Hand, unsure of what else to do, when his eyes opened and golden light poured out, drenching his entire body. Everyone shielded their eyes and Tillian called for him desperately.

There was a blinding light and utter silence. When it faded, she opened her eyes, blinking to readjust to the dim firelight of the cabin. Lying next to her was Somlen, without a doubt. His dark brown hair spread out against the floor without any of its former stiffness; from his shoulder down his chest was a long shallow scar, tracing the exact same path as the wooden crack that cut through him as a doll. But, like his wooden form, he wasn’t breathing.

Tillian immediately began to panic again and reached for him. His cheek felt warm, for that at least she was grateful, yet there was still no movement. ‘ _We were so close’_ , she couldn’t stop thinking. As she prepared a healing spell, he took in a huge gulping breath. Startled, she took his head in her arms and cradled it.

“Hey, hey, breathe. You’re safe, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” she whispered rapidly as he coughed, breathing for the first time in years. He blinked several times, squinting through the dark, before settling his eyes on Tillian, who smiled and brushed his temple with her thumb. With great effort, he raised up a shaky arm and they both looked at his hand, nearly twice as big as hers. Entirely flesh and bone, no loosely nailed joints or coarse, unfeeling wood grain. He let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so raspy. His chapped lips cracked into a smile, and he looked back at her. “You’re a lot smaller than I thought.”

Tillian laughed tearfully, “Ha, well, now it’s _your_ turn to carry _me_ around.” She hugged him closer and held on as much as she could. Somlen wrapped an arm around her, still weak but grasping tightly. The others in the room relaxed, silently agreeing to give the two space. Kestral had held back the killing blow for Tillian, and now she called for Mara. Mara jumped down from the rafters, stumbling slightly on her bloodied left leg, which Kestral immediately fussed over. Yei pulled books from the hag’s shelves, saving some for Mara to translate later, while Dustin sat nearby and cleaned gore off his sword. Vauhggrim was already tearing the place down searching for loot.

Only after several minutes had passed did the pair of bards relax their grip on each other, thought they still didn’t let go. Neither wiped off the tears or snot on their faces; after living in someone’s bag for weeks, dignity stops being so important. Tillian studied Somlen’s face, taking in all the details that were too small to see before, and he let her, happy to just sit and feel his heart beat again.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Kind of dizzy, and really, really tired, but I’m alive,” he replied, wiping away some tears with the palm of his hand. There were a million things he wanted to do, and sleep was at the top, but more than anything he wanted to get away from this awful place. “Can you help me stand up?” he whispered.

Tillian nodded, taking his hands in hers. She pulled him up and he stood on his own two feet for a moment before wobbling and clinging onto Tillian for balance. He laughed lightly at himself; his legs were so delicate and precise compared to his knobby wooden ones. Tillian called for Dustin and he came over, nearly taking Somlen off his feet when he put his arm over his neck and straightened up. A small blush spread across Somlen’s cheeks, his lungs suddenly filled with butterflies and electricity. With one arm over Dustin’s shoulders and a hand on Tillian’s, he took a few steps forward, his muscles shifting and flexing in intricate rhythms he’d never noticed before. His tattered pants shifted, tickling the hairs on his legs, his bare feet cold on the flagstone floor. A shiver ran up his spine and he jumped a bit, Tillian whipping her head around to stare at him with concern.

“It’s cold,” he stated, the smile on his face only widening. Tillian immediately moved to take off her massive orc boots, overprotective as ever, but Somlen put his hand on her shoulder again and took another step. After a few more steps he slipped his arm off Dustin’s shoulder as he and Tillian continued forward, leaving the rest of the group to reap the rewards of the hunt.

They made several rests stops on the way to the ship, mostly at Tillian’s insistence whenever Somlen stumbled even slightly or seemed winded. He huffed but obliged her anyway, not wanting to admit to feeling overwhelmed. He had mimicked things like touch and taste for so long, but he didn’t realize how far away the true experience was. The feel of the ground, the smells of the forest, the wind through his hair, feeling all of them at once was a barrage of information. How had he lived decades like this and still been bored with his life?

“Are you alright?” Somlen realized he’d been absorbed in the texture of the rock he sat on for the last few minutes. Tillian, who’d spent every rest on alert guarding him, finally sat down, breaking his trance. She unwrapped her bulky knitted scarf from her neck and seeing her without it made him realize how tiny she really was. She wound it around him, tucking in the ends, before taking out a blanket from her pack and draping it too over him. He hadn’t noticed he was shivering. “It’s just a little bit further, then you can sleep as long as you want.”

He pulled the blanket close and nestled into her scarf; as she said, he was safe. Reluctantly, he stood up again and gripped on to her shoulder as they carried on.

When they reached the ship, Tillian pulled out her broomstick and lifted them both to the deck. Somlen decided he’d ask to borrow it sometime; for such a short ride, it was absolutely exhilarating. For now, Tillian guided him to her bunk and began fluffing the pillow and shaking out the sheets. Somlen felt his exhaustion take over and moved to lay on the floor as he’d always done, but-

“Absolutely not, get in the bed,” Tillian snapped, pulling him up and pushing him to the cot, “I didn’t drag you back to life just to ruin your back.”

Somlen tried to protest, but before he knew it he was shoved down and tucked in, and the comfort of the mattress was everything he’d hoped for. He unwrapped the scarf but didn’t let go of it either. Tillian ruffled his hair before she turned away, but a hand shot out and gripped hers.

“Could you stay, please? I can make room if you want. I won’t make any gross jokes about it, promise,” he asked, voice groggy with exhaustion. It wasn’t right to be treated with so much care when he’d been nothing but a burden.

Tillian paused. She knew she was being overbearing, but, even though his life wasn’t tied to hers anymore, she still wanted to keep him safe. She took off her boots and the bulkier parts of her armor and hopped into the bed. To Somlen’s surprise, she moved close to him, almost wrapping herself around his head, and held him like a child holds their favorite stuffed animal. His ear to her chest, he could hear her breathing and faintly her heartbeat, both far slower and calmer than he expected from someone so perpetually nervous. As he drifted to sleep, he could feel fingers running through his hair.

\---

When he’d been human, before the curse, he’d been a terrible sleeper. Maybe it was from all his one-night stands: his body had simply programmed itself to get up and sneak out before the other woke up. Or maybe it was from the constant need to run, from debts and exes and angry crowds. But this time, he felt like he’d slept for days, and if Tillian wasn’t missing he’d sleep some more.

He sat up, the wood frame of the cot creaking. Through a tiny crack in the hull a sliver of daylight shone in, though what time he couldn’t be sure. He dragged himself out of bed, knocking a change of clothes to the ground, where they fell next to a pair of slippers. He reached down and grabbed one, purple with gold trim, shocked that something could be so plush and soft. He changed slowly, musing on whether his lack of muscle memory was from prolonged disuse or if this body was an entirely seperate recreation of the original; either way, he had to rebutton his shirt a few times before he both mastered the technique and got the button-hole alignment right.

Shuffling up to the deck, he passed a couple crewmen who’s names he half-remembered. After a moment of confusion, they realized who he was and pointed him to the kitchen to find the others. One of them eyed him up and down and smirked, making him blush again. Oh, right, _that_ was on the table again! He was extremely out of practice, but he volleyed back by leaning against a nearby wall and jutting out his hips. Unfortunately, he’d only just gotten the hang of his renewed limbs only a few hours ago, nevermind his sea legs, so he ended up clinging to the wall more than reclining. The two sailors asked if he was alright, clearly trying not to chuckle as he righted himself and he told them no, he was alright, thanks for the concern. He quickly moved on, ears burning but taking a little comfort in feeling more human than ever.

He swung open the door to the kitchen and was once again utterly overwhelmed. The smells of acrid coffee and frying dough, a chorus of clanging pots and pans and voices greeting him, and then feeling himself get dragged over and sat down on a hard wooden bench. To his left was Kestral, sincerely asking him how he slept, while Dustin, Yei, and Von complimented his new form, joking amongst themselves if they had room for a fourth, and Mara looked up only for a moment, piercing him with her gaze, before diving back into her unreadable book. Somlen shifted in his seat uncomfortably, answering Kestral’s questions as best as he could over the impossibly loud din. Suddenly, a plate slid in front of him with a mile-high stack of pancakes threatening to topple from the momentum. A slice of butter skidded off the top and melted on a raft of sausages, the grease of which oozed into a ring of scrambled eggs surrounding the pancakes. A glass of juice was more delicately placed next to the plate as the bench creaked next to him.

“Oh shit, I completely forgot to ask: you don’t have any allergies, do you?” Tillian said before putting a small pitcher of maple syrup next to the glass and taking a seat next to him. The flour, syrup, and blueberry juice on her hands smeared onto the fork and knife she handed him. She picked up her own mug of coffee, clearly more milk and sugar than actual caffeine, and waited for his answer.

“We’ll find out together, I suppose,” Somlen chuckled, twisting the utensils in his hands until they felt right. He cut into the stack more forcefully than he meant to, bristling at the sound of metal on ceramic. Everyone at the table kept on with their conversations, either not noticing or purposefully ignoring his clumsiness. He sliced off a chunk of pancake with several blueberries nestled inside, a decades-worth of hunger gnawing at him. Finally, he took a bite, and by all the gods it was well worth the wait.

Tillian had been preparing for this ever since they got on the hag’s trail, picking up ingredients here and there that her more practical crewmates would usually pass over. She’d even had her mom mail some honey from a neighbor, though she wished she’d been able to get blueberries from Winslow. Those berries, as annoying as their gossiping was, were the finest she’d ever had.

Somlen would have been grateful enough for a standard slice of hardtack, buttered if he was lucky. Before the curse, many of his meals came as payment for a night of performing, or as a generous breakfast from those whose bed he’d stayed in a little too long. Still, he’d fantasized about all the food he’d eat when he was human again for years, even considered learning to bake sometimes. Grace wasn’t much of a cook, so when they lived together he taught himself enough to get them by, but something like this… 

He put down the fork and knife despite his hunger, his heart starting to palpitate. Avoiding everyone’s confused faces, he folded his hands in front of his face as if in prayer, squeezing them tight. His breathing shallowed as his throat tightened and he bite hard on his lip. Today was the first day of the rest of his life, and he was going to start it by crying over some pancakes, how stupid was that.

A hand rubbed circles on his back. “It’s alright, just take your time,” Tillian spoke low, her own eyes threatening to tear up as well. Somlen let out a shaky breath, breathing in and out deeply until his throat wasn’t tight enough to choke him. Eventually it passed and he nodded to her, attempted a reassuring grin, and dug back into his breakfast. The others started chatting again, a little quieter but with a new air of warmth and sincerity. Tillian sipped her coffee and joined, occasionally asking Somlen for his opinion on the topic at hand (usually when his mouth was too full to answer). Whenever a portion of his plate was empty, someone would quickly smother it with any remaining sausages or eggs from their own plates.

When he couldn’t eat another bite, softly rejecting the mountain of leftovers on Kestral’s huge orc-sized platter, he took his plate to the sink. Tillian followed on his heels, offering to do it for him and he should take it easy and relax, but he insisted. He took his plate to a bucket of dirty dishes, reaching into the grimy water for the dishrag. Soggy chunks of pancake and globs of syrup bobbed along the surface, and the rag clearly needed to be aired out. Scrubbing his plate, he turned to Tillian to say, “Wow, this sucks just as much as I remembered!”. She snorted and leaned against the counter next to him.

“So, what comes next? Grace?” she asked, her expression hard to read.

Somlen flicked water off his hands and grabbed a relatively dry towel. “I… I’d rather wait to see her. I need to find whoever hired the hag first, and, I don’t know, talk to them? Kill them? I guess we’ll have to see,” he sighed, placing the plate on the counter, “You guys, you don’t have to come with me to do it. You’ve already done enough, more than enough, I can’t ask for more. I owe all of this to you.” He fiddled with the towel, tracing a pattern weaved into it.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I just wanted to get that dumb life debt clause out of the way,” Tillian joked, but Somlen wouldn’t forget the fear and guilt on her face anytime she was pummeled within an inch of her- and thus his- life. “You don’t owe me anything, but… I’d really like it if you stayed. I’m sure we all want to bring this asshole to justice,” the loathing in her voice was enough to kill a man, “Besides, you haven’t officially graduated from Kestral’s School of Manners yet, think of how disappointed she’ll be if you dropped out.” 

For the first time, Somlen reached down and ruffled _her_ hair. “There’s a lot of people I need to apologize to, maybe seeing you all with me will keep them from gutting me on the spot. Besides, I need you around to stop me from making any more bad decisions.” Tillian playfully punched his hip and he laughed, rubbing the now surprisingly sore spot. In retrospect, he probably should have expected his pain tolerance to reset with his new body.

Kestral spoke up, “Hey Somlen, do you want to help with the rigging? It’s not too hard, I’ll show you the ropes,” and everyone in the room groaned. Baffled, she asked the group what was wrong, and Mara assured her it was nothing, she’s doing great. The two bards rolled their eyes before steering Kestral out of the kitchen.

High above the clouds, the deck was drenched by the sun and cooled by the wind. Somlen rolled up his sleeves and pant legs, eager to let the heat soak into his skin. Sometimes, when he was a doll, he’d lay out in the sun for hours on end or sit too close to a fire, and he could almost maybe feel the heat seep into the wood of his body. But to feel it, to really feel it, was more than he could ever put into words.

Except, perhaps, for _thank you_.


End file.
